


Not that stupid

by Ookomix



Series: The mighty little mage and his lion [1]
Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, Swords and magic, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookomix/pseuds/Ookomix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khadgar can't wield a sword. Khadgar doesn't need a sword, but it's difficult to make soldiers understand that.<br/>So, Khadgar is pissed. </p><p>Lothar has his own way to make things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not that stupid

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, be nice, English is not my native language.  
> Enjoy, anyway!

The courtyard is filled with the whistles and cries of metal against metal, and dust settles on the air like a storm low above the ground when Khadgar enters quietly the barracks and makes himself scarce in the shadows. The young mage is not at ease in this place, but he is looking for the commander, and was told he would find him here. And he is.

Lothar is in the middle of the courtyard, his sword out and singing as the soldier draws circles in the air with it. The others around him, all recruits, are ready to fight, their own weapons drawn, debating whether or not they should try a direct approach or a more subtle tactic. And Khadgar can only have pity on them, for it seems quite difficult to focus when the commander is taunting them, roaring insults and encouragements at the same time. Finally, the younger fighters decide to act, and the battle begins for good.

Khadgar once heard that a fight is not only clashes and blood, but is also the capacity to make your enemy hesitate before attacking you. That, sometimes, it was only in the head, and those who have nothing to prove don't even need to draw their sword to win the fight. And it is really true. But right now there's not “fight in the head”, no test of courage and patience. Right now, it's the violence and the brutality of an encounter between a group of inexperienced fighters and a lion. And the young mage finds himself relieved they're not using real swords, because a lot of the youngsters would have died in the first minute. Lothar has no chill, no compassion, not even a little bit of concern for those who stand bravely against him. He makes them eat dust and forces them to stand up and fight like nothing happened. After what feels like an eternity for both the mage and probably the little soldiers, Lothar steps out of the training zone and puts his sword down.

“You fought well,” he states before he frowns. “But you're still a bunch of careless grunts, and brute strength will definitely _not_ help you against the orcs. Remember that. You can't defeat them in a show of muscles. Use your brain.”

And just like that he leaves them pick up the wounded and the stunned, and he goes... Right to Khadgar who makes a squeaky noise. Lothar looks at him with an ill-hidden smile.

“I... I thought I was discreet,” the young mage says.

“You weren't. Relieved?” Lothar chuckles. “Now, what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, actually. I wanted to know how things were going for you after... Well. And then I saw you, beating the crap out of your draftees, and I felt bad for them so I stayed.”

This time a loud guffaw bursts out of Lothar, making soldiers turn their heads, and the commander is wiping tears from the corner of his eyes when he looks at Khadgar again.

“And you? When is the time you take a sword and learn to defend yourself even if you're muted and can't use your damn magic?”

“I don't think I would be an excellent recruit,” the mage answers, shifting his weight from one leg to another with embarrassment. “I'm no soldier, Lothar. I have never held a sword.”

“And that's your problem,” Lothar points out, his smile growing on his face. “But you're in the barracks. People learn how to fight, here. So, get a sword and come out and play with the others, mh?”

This time Khadgar starts panicking. He doesn't want to _come and play_ with the other brutes who fill the court like they have nothing better to do. There are people, here. Khadgar feels like he doesn't belong with people. It's difficult enough for him to have to stay here because the Queen asked him, commanded him to stay for the moment, and because Kharazan is shut down with dark magic and he has nowhere else to go. But training with the soon to be soldiers? He can't. He just can't.

“I can't, I'm sorry. I have to repeat myself. I'm not... _made_ to be a soldier.”

“Oh, quit with the whining. Some of our recruits are older than you are and they come from farms and forges. Besides, it would do you some good to start training with swords, I will not be around forever to save you.”

The worst part is, Lothar sounds and looks like he means it. Like he means every word he says. Does he see Khadgar like a child who needs to be protected? A burden in the battlefield, even after what they went through in Kharazan? Just because he can't wield a sword? The mage stays still for a moment, looking at the man he admires maybe a little too much, this invincible warrior not even an entire army of monsters can defeat. And he realizes. He will never have his place at this man's side. They're too much apart. Too much different. And maybe that's why Medivh told him he was alone, even if he had his two best friends near him. Medivh was surrounded by warriors, who couldn't understand the struggle of having that much power at his fingertips, and yet so little control over it. The _need_ to learn from ancient arcanes. From books. And the need not to be exposed. They couldn't understand.

Medivh was surrounded by idiots.

With a forced smile, Khadgar shakes his head and grabs his bag from the dusty ground of the barracks.

“Maybe I need to rephrase. I _don't want_ to fight, train, whatever you want to call it, with idiots who spend their lives waving sword like it's _difficult._ I don't _need_ it.”

The look of utter shock in Lothar's face makes the younger man want to punch himself, but he stays strong, bows his head towards the commander, then leaves the place without another glance.

 

* * *

 

Khadgar looks up from his book and turns his head towards the large window of the royal library. It's pitch black, outside, maybe the middle of the night, and the young mage hasn't even read a whole book since this morning. What a waste of time. A waste of a whole day, and only by Lothar's fault, he's sure of it. He just... he can't focus, after what happened at the barracks. He hasn't seen the commander since, and he keeps wondering where he is, if he's mad or beyond that point. Khadgar's a little obsessed, and that's terrifying. Sighing loudly, the mage tries to concentrate on the page in front of him when the heavy door of the library is pushed open with a loud noise, and Khadgar gets up from his chair and starts whispering a spell to defend himself, moving to the nearest bookshelf for cover. But the threat is... maybe... not one. Lothar comes to him and stops a few inches away from the table where the book lies open. He's still in his armor, not bothered by the fact the whole castle has probably been awaken by his wandering in metal plate.

Khadgar gulps.

He shouldn't have insulted Lothar. He's certain he's going to regret it. Now seems a good time to apologize, because the man in front of him is the commander of the Stormwind's army, the most intimidating human he ever met, and the Queen's brother, and you just don't insult the Queen's brother, especially when he can crush you with an arm tied behind his back.

Lothar doesn't look like he came to crush Khadgar's skull. Lighted by the magic candle Khadgar left on the table, he seems... tired. The young man comes out of behind the bookshelf and dusts his clothes.

“Lothar. You surprised me. You were close to take a fireball in the face, I'm sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Why are you...” Khadgar stops talking and looks at the warrior. What did he just hear? Lothar takes the book and reads a few lines before he closes it.

“You're right,” Lothar continues. “Maybe I'm an idiot.” He gestures at the book. “Is that really what you think?”

“I... I suppose I was upset, I...”

“Is. That. Really. What you think?”

Khadgar falls silent, he has no idea what to say. Yes, he meant it. Warriors are so sure they rule the world, they couldn't even understand when mages have taken control of one of their cities and flown away with it! So, yes, maybe they are stupid.

Is Lothar stupid?

Tough question. The commander is still in front of the young man, hasn't put the book down, yet. His too blue too bright eyes are focused on Khadgar, as if it were capable of reading his thoughts. Khadgar is completely hypnotized by those eyes, they are so pure, sometimes as clear as an Elwynn's lake, sometimes thunderous like the Great Sea's violent storms. This night they shine under the light, still too blue despite the darkened room.

“Why are you here?” Khadgar manages to say, his gaze still locked on Lothar's pale blue eyes.

“I wasted my whole day wondering what I could have done wrong. It seems you don't even want me to come and see you. You have courage, you know? Not everyone would dare talk to me like that. But yet, you did it. I eventually found why you insulted me and left. You're afraid. You think I see you as a child who can't protect himself nor people around him. You're afraid people could see you that way, and that's why you stay alone, all by yourself.”

The fierceness on Lothar's face is terrifying and beautiful at the same time, and Khadgar can only see why they call him a lion. The commander is only inches away from him now, and his presence is intoxicating. Khadgar, so proud of his rhetoric, so proud of his words, finds nothing to say.

“Are you afraid?” Lothar asks in a gentle voice, almost a whisper, and it's so... alien to him.

“Of you?”

“Of course, not,” Lothar chuckles. “Why would you? You're the heir of the Guardian.”

“I'm n...” Khadgar doesn't have a chance to finish his sentence before Lothar grabs his shoulders. And the commander's mouth crashes against his into the most brutal kiss he ever had.

Kisses, he already had. Carefully, shyly exchanged behind bookshelves in the shadow of the Kirin Tor's Libraries. Lothar is not shy. He is possessive, demanding, and Khadgar can only comply and try to survive in the ocean of sensations which wants to drown him. Dizzy, completely drunk by the scent of leather and metal, the mage entangles his fingers in Lothar's mane and deepens the kiss with a muffled whine. He doesn't even react when his back hits one of the shelves. Some books fall from their place, abandoned on the ground and unnoticed. After what seems to be both an eternity and a second for Khadgar, Lothar breaks the kiss but stays very _very_ close, his breath hot against Khadgar's mistreated lips.

“Maybe I need to rephrase,” the commander says, imitating Khadgar's earlier intonation, and the mage shudders. “I'm a very _stupid_ and _busy_ soldier, and I can't find time to spend with you. So, will you get you ass back to the barracks and get along with my stupid excuse, or do I need to come into the library with a pair of swords so I can see you more often without feeling guilty of neglecting my duties?”

“Why not both?” Khadgar asks with a hidden smile, and he can't stop playing with the laces of the armor. “As long as you don't destroy the place. You know, some of these books are precious and really interesting!”

“I know. I read a lot of them. I was particularly fond of the _Lore and Legends of Azeroth_. Ate the five volumes. Twice.”

That's new. Khadgar rises his head to look at Lothar and see if he's actually mocking him, but no. He's serious. He's serious! Khadgar gasps, and the older man laughs.

“Not that stupid, uh? I expect to see you tomorrow morning. I haven't finished the rookies' training, and you're going to show them how _easy_ it is to fight with a sword.”

He steals a second kiss before he steps back and turns around. Khadgar stays silent as he looks at the commander leaving the room. Maybe it's time he gives the barracks a chance, he thinks, brushing carefully his lips. Even if that means he has to make a fool of himself with a sword.

...

Here comes the mockery! It's totally worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing.


End file.
